"And what exactly are you planning to do with that?" A darkly
amused chuckle. "Kill me again?"

Timothy fell back, raising the wooden leg before him defensively as he
scooted against a corner.

"Oh please!" Jenner rolled his eyes and shook his head with a
conniving smile. "Dear boy, you brought me here. I have precious little
time as it is, what would it possibly benefit me to hurt you?"

Timothy’s eyes narrowed. "I know you!"

"And I know you, although only by reputation." He bowed, sweeping
his cloak back. "Timothy Brisby, younger son of dear, departed Jonathan,
correct?." He stood up straight glancing from side to side. "I’d be
somewhat surprised if he wasn’t here."

"You tried to kill me! And my brother and sisters! You killed
Nicodemus!"

Jenner seemed a little taken aback. His busy eyebrows furrowed and he smiled
reassuringly. "I assure you, young Brisby, that I made no intentions to
harm yourself or your siblings. You just happened to be in the cinderblock I
needed. Tragic victims of circumstance."

Timothy glared. "Why!?"

Jenner cooed. "Oh is that all? Is that the reason you chose me, of all
people, over even your father, to visit you tonight? Just to ask me why?"
He rose his eyebrows. "Well then, so be it, I did it to save the Rats of
NIMH."

"To save them?" Timothy stared in disbelief. "Save them from
what?"

"From Nicodemus. From the Plan."

"But to kill… "

Jenner sneered. "The Plan would have killed us all. Nicodemus was too
stubborn, and too set in his skewed sense of ‘rightness’ to see that. And as
long as he was around, others would follow him. If the only way to save us was
to take his place, should I have hesitated?"

"It is good to see you again, Mrs. Brisby. I trust you and your
children are well?"

Mrs. Brisby nodded, stepping closer. "Yes, your Majesty, thank you.
Thank you for everything. I never really got the chance…"

Nicodemus rose one age-withered paw. "No, Mrs. Brisby. You more than
thanked us enough when you warned the Rats about NIMH. It is we who should be
thanking you. You saved our lives. We did little more than drop your home in
the mud. It is you, not us, whom you have to thank of your home and your children."

"It is you who gave me the Stone," she countered.

"And it is you," Nicodemus replied, "who had the strength of
character to awaken it."

Mr. Ages sprinkled a mixture of herbs into his thimble of hot cocoa and
stirred. The cold remedy soaked in, disappearing with a tail of steam. "If
anything, we should have apologized to her for making such a mess of
things."

Jonathan shook his head hopelessly. "How’d she take it? Does she… does
she hate me for having kept this from her?"

Mr. Ages’s eyes narrowed. "You must not know her as well as you think
you do. Jonathan, your wife has never hated you. In fact, I doubt she would be
capable of it." Mr. Ages offered Jonathan another thimble of cocoa.
"Boy, she forgave you long before she knew what she was forgiving you
for."

Jonathan accepted the cocoa and sat in silence. Finally, once half the cocoa
in his thimble was gone, "The Plan? The rats went to Thorn Valley?"

Ages stiffened but nodded.

Jonathan looked at his old friend. "Why didn’t you go."

Ages dismissed the question. "I didn’t much feel like being stuck in a
colony. That’s why I lived here when the rest of them were in the rosebush. I
like my privacy."

"Oh."

Mr. Ages sighed. And drank his cocoa.

"I don’t blame Jonathan for not telling me," Mrs. Brisby affirmed
as she sat down on the pile of blankets, offering one of them to Nicodemus, who
sat with her. She marveled somewhat when he thanked her for it, and wrapped
himself. Apparently, though dead, he still took comfort in the warmth.
"After telling the children, I feel I understand more. I wish I could tell
him that."

Nicodemus snugged the blanket’s edge up higher around his neck and smiled,
his eyes glowing a kind, gentle light. "He already knows."

Mrs. Brisby nodded, looking up towards the ceiling to some spot in the
heavens she could not see. "I know. But I still miss him. I still wish I
could tell him myself; that he could hear it from my own tongue as well as my
heart. I just take comfort though that right now he is in another, better
place. And he is happy." She smiles longingly. "I’m sure of it."

There was a moment of silence. Then she turned to the old rat. "Your
Majesty, there’s something I must ask," Mrs. Brisby hazarded.

"Please, call me Nicodemus. And whatever you wish to ask, feel
free."

Mrs. Brisby walked forward. Feel free, he had said. It had not missed her
that of all those she could have talked to, Nicodemus was the one that had come
to her. A part of her ached at that. Wished it had been Jonathan here. And
wondered why.

But she felt comfortable with Nicodemus. Felt, yes, free. For all she loved
Jonathan, and he loved him with all her heart, Jonathan had lied to her. Had
kept secrets from her that he took to his grave. But Nicodemus had told her
everything. When he had no reason to, and every reason to keep his secrets from
her. There was a certain openness she felt with him that she doubted she’d felt
with anyone else. He was a confidant.

"What is the afterlife like?"

Nicodemus raised a bushy eyebrow. "I’m afraid I have no idea."

"But… you are dead…" Her voice cut off as a booming crash slammed
its way through the old thresher from every side. Somewhere in the rain rent
skies above, lightning was slashing white-hot above the fields, battering them,
and the thresher, with their thunder. Mrs. Brisby cringed, scooting closer to
Nicodemus, her question forgotten.

The old rat smiled ever so slightly and gently slinked his tail around her,
nudging her a bit closer. Not all visages of the timid field mouse he had first
seen through his looking machine had vanished. Rather, they had matured, become
wizened by age and courage.

Mrs. Brisby gasped, startled by the unexpected touch. She looked up to the
old rat, but saw only sincere friendship in his eyes. Perhaps it was because she
was so tired, but she felt a wash of release as she leaned against him.
"Thank you. I’ve never liked storms." Her voice was soft, meandering.
She didn’t care; neither did he. "Even as a mouseling. I’d crawl up into
my father’s arms and shake. Cynthia never did that. She loves storms. And
Teresa…" Her voice trailed. She cocked her head and sighed. "Teresa
has taken to dancing in them. I hate to imagine her out in this one; she’ll be
soaked to the bone. I don’t know why she does it; it’s so beautiful, but so
strange. And when she comes back, she has the oddest look in her eyes."

Timothy hauled himself upright, bracing against the floor with the wooden
furniture leg. As he did so, he kept close eye on the figure across from him.
Jenner. He had seen him fighting outside his window. Heard this rat as he
argued viciously with Justin and tried to strike him down. As he admitted the
murder of Nicodemus. Jenner had burned an image on his pneumonia-fogged brain.
But now, he was seeing him clearly for the first time. Hearing his words
without the veil of dementia.

It was not so strange that Jenner, of all those passed away, would be the
one to visit him. He had, after all, given great effort to trying to understand
the ways of the Rats. And Jenner had oft been at the center of those thoughts.
Timothy had, in fact, spent entire days pondering the meaning of what he had
witnessed. So after shock had dissipated, Jenner’s presence wasn’t frightening
to Timothy. Rather, it was acceptable. Even predictable. And he found himself
watching the rat with tempered curiosity more than anything else. Strangely,
Timothy was certain that Jenner was viewing him the same way.

He had awoken frightfully when him bedroom had fallen. Awoken to a spectacle
of this rat outside his window. A vision that had ended violently and with
blood. Timothy wondered if he should not, in fact, be far more frightened than
he was?

Jenner turned, swirling his cloak about him, then looked back over his
shoulder at the mousling with a toothy grin. A thunderous boom crashed through
the thresher, shaking the halls and floor beneath, causing the young mouse to
nearly fall, and seeming to answer his question.

"Are you coming? Are did you really intend to stand around in this
hallway all night?"

The pounding of thunder shocked Mr. Ages and Jonathan out of their silent
reverie. Mr. Ages gathered himself, setting aside his now empty thimble and
readying for the portal. "Well, Jonathan, if you’re here to help, it had
better be now. That storm isn’t going to wait any longer."

A moment later, the two mice were dashing on all fours through the dark
rusted metal maze of the thresher. The younger, despite his sore paw, easily
keeping up and finally outdistancing the older mouse. Mr. Age felt old. But he
ran, each moment a binding knot in his heart telling him that time was running
out. Both were panting harshly when they reached the light of the portal.

Justin shivered, looking at his mother. Sudden realization passing through
him like a ghost. His mother was dead. That’s the only way she could be here.
And while he had realized years ago that she must be, that the span of a
mouse’s life had run out for her, it had been an intellectual acceptance only.
Justin’s face fell. "Oh mother… I’m so sorry."

"Hush, love." The voice was soft, befitting an apparition,
although the rat beside him was clearly of solid flesh. "Take your
time." She seemed to only now be taking in her surroundings. "Where
is this place? How is it that you still look so young and healthy?" A
smile angelified her face. "I always knew you’d grow up to be handsome and
strong. You must have many mates."

Justin blushed. "Mom!" And sat, or perhaps simply collapsed to the
chair. He leaned forward, grasping her paws in his. "Mother, there’s so
much I need to tell you. So much I… " He stopped. Words failed him. The
last time he had seen her was before NIMH. Before his capture. "I… I
should have come back. I didn’t even say goodbye. I… I’m so sorry…"

She reached up, and brushed the tear that was forming away from his eye.
"I’m here now. Tell me."

Jonathan clambered up the rim and looked out. The metal wall of the thresher
dropped away sharply, a lethal fall of many feet to the muddy ground below. A
few inches below him, thin ledge where the metal seems overlapped… barely large
enough for his feet and slick with rain. He frowned, wishing Mr. Ages was
kidding. But knowing better, and put one hind paw over the lip of the rim.

"Jonathan wait!"

The younger mouse paused, silhouetted in the circle of open sky, already
getting wet. Mr. Ages caught his breath in a wheeze and bunched himself up like
a sack of seeds. "Jonathan," His voice was forcibly flat, but
under-ran with regret, or anger, or something else he couldn’t quite catch.
"There is a reason you’re here with me."

Jonathan smiled a moment, a clear ‘finally’ expression on his face. And to
Ages, it looked for the world as if the younger mouse hoped this would mean he
didn’t have to go out into the rain. Mr. Ages couldn’t blame him; he was
already miserable from the weather, and he had the advantage that he would be
around long enough to dry off. Who would want to spend their last hours soaked
through the fur and skin? This confession, though, would certainly deprive
Jonathan of that look. And maybe himself on one of his oldest friends.

"Jon, I hated your wife."

"I hate Jenner," Justin said, teeth clinched. "Nicodemus was
more than our leader; Nicodemus had once been his best friend. How could
he?"

He clinched his eyes shut. When he opened them, his mother was looking back.
Silently. Not understanding all, or even most of what he was saying. But
listening all the same. Listening like only she could.

"So you can imagine," he continued, although in truth she probably
couldn’t, "how hard it has been, on top of everything else, to try to deal
with rats who have chosen to call themselves ‘Jennerites’."

His eyes stayed on her. Just being here, she was comforting. Relaxing. As
if, by speaking his troubles, she could make them seem all less important. Less
critical. "We are barely surviving, mom. There are those that want us to
start stealing again. The ‘Jennerites’ insist that if we only take what the
human’s throw away, it’s perfectly all right." He sighed, shaking his
head. "I… I’m not sure anymore. I do know, however, that it’s not what
Nicodemus wanted. But when it’s no longer a matter of luxury. When our very
survival is at stake… But if we do, what progress have we made. In the end,
will Thorn Valley be any better than the Rosebush."

Justin looked to her. "Nicodemus wanted us to be self-dependent.
Self-supportive. I believe in that to. But what should I do?"

"Nicodemus wanted us to be isolated!"

Jenner paused in his speech when he reached the door. Slowly, he opened it.
And stopped suddenly, eyes widening and mouth opening in a soft ‘oh’ when the
light of the candle met his face. He stared at it silently for what seemed the
longest time before his gaze drifted downward. He saw the two figures, huddled
in the candlelight, and a smirk crossed his face. He turned to Timothy with a
finger to his muzzle. His eyes gazed lower, till they fell upon a piece of
metal.

Jenner carefully and noiselessly reached down and picked up Justin’s sword.
Only the barest metallic whisper sounded as the sharpened tip slid and lifted
from the floor. Then, with equal care, he closed the door.

"We can go around the other way. I think they want their privacy."
His smile and sophisticated charm made Timothy shiver, even as he agreed.

Mrs. Brisby leaned into Nicodemus and they talked. Of good times. Of
memories. Mostly of Jonathan. They had both known him. Both been amongst his
closest friends. But they had also both been excluded for an important part of
his life. Each seeing one half of a composite whole. And only now, together,
could a clear image of her loving husband, his dear friend, begin to emerge.

"I must admit, Mrs. Brisby, that when Jonathan announced his
intentions, I was deeply concerned. Both for him and for you. Our secret, the
secret of NIMH, is a heavy one. I didn’t want to see him hurt. Or you. And I
feared neither telling you the truth nor keeping it secret would have spared
him that."

The aging field mouse nodded, understanding. "It’s been tough, watching
the children. Knowing has changed them. They are beginning to withdraw. Teresa
has cut off all contact with her friends outside, and keeps almost entirely at
home. I’m worried for her. I can understand… now knowing that while they grow
up she will not. But I don’t think she should be alone." She sighs.
"Neither should the others. But Timothy never really had friends outside
his siblings, and Martin has become belligerent. Part of that is just being a
growing boy, I know, but…"

Nicodemus listened. "It is not good to be alone." He closed his
eyes, the light from them becoming mere slits between his lashes. "I fear
I was not as supportive of Jonathan as I should have been."

After the door was gone again in the darkness, Jenner continued.
"Isolationism doesn’t work, Timothy. It never will. Nicodemus should have
known better. If he couldn’t learn that from the humans, then he should at
least have learned it from your father."

Timothy perked his ears. "My father?"

Jenner chuckled. "Of course. He married a field mouse, didn’t he? He,
more than anyone, proved that we cannot survive separated from everything and
everyone else. We can no more survive without taking from the humans than
Jonathan could without taking from the lesser animals."

Timothy stopped, confusion setting in. "But I thought you…"

"Just because I did not care about your mother, or feel any need to
offer her my assistance when I felt her petty concerns did not cross paths with
our own, does not mean I was against Jonathan’s marriage." As he stepped
into a beam of golden light, he smiled. "I was, in fact, one of his
staunchest supporters…"

They stopped at the rim of the doorway into Ages laboratory. The door had
been left open, and golden warm light poured down on them through it from the
burner beyond. Ages was nowhere to be seen. Jenner kneeled down, and, much to
Timothy’s surprise, helped in up over the rim. And handed his walking stick
across to him.

"We are more than rats, as Jonathan was more than a mouse. But we are
still, at our core, rats. We are, to be precise, theriomorphs. Not humans with
fur. To deny the beastial within us is pure folly. To try to ignore our rat
natures is foolishness. Nicodemus would have done good to remember that."
He smiled down to the child. "And procreation is one of the most
instinctual drives of our beast. Fight, flight and fuck; isn’t that what the
humans say?"

Timothy frowned. "I don’t know what humans say."

Jenner strode in, looking around. "Mr. Ages laboratory. I thought this
place seemed familiar. Now Mr. Ages, there is someone who is a prime example of
what happens to isolationists."

Timothy listened, also looking around. Where was Mr. Ages? He sniffed.
Cocoa. Ages had given that wonderful drink to him before. Two thimbles. He was
not the only one to have gone on a walk with an unexpected companion. Timothy
wondered, with casual amusement, who Ages had, in his heart, needed to see. And
how well the old grouch had taken the revelation.

Timothy sniffed at each of the thimbles, trying to pick up a scent other
than that of rich chocolate. "You supported my father’s marriage."
The concept still was sinking in.

"Indeed," Jenner watched the boy, an eyebrow raised. "I did
make it clear though that his animal wife could not ever be brought to the
Rosebush. Or know about us at all. For our sake as much as his." When
Timothy shot him a look, Jenner leaned close. Expalining as if to a simpleton.
"Fight, flight and fuck, my boy. Animals are frightened of what they do
not understand what is strange is threatening. They either attack or run away.
And I doubt Jonathan could have handled that"

Jenner stood back up straight. "And we were still building. A fledgling
colony. The last thing we needed was to fend off a mob of frightened fied
animals. Yes, I drummed that lesson into Jonathan every chance I had. And,
thankfully, it took. Too bad I wasn’t able to dissuade him from the Nicodemus’
Plan with as much effect."

Jenner’s expression soured.

"Hated?" Jonathan stared at Mr. Ages. He couldn’t imagine this old
friend bearing such resentment. "Are you sure ‘hated’ isn’t a bit
strong?" The old mouse, as if having said nothing, pushed past him and out
the hole. Jonathan’s teeth clinched and after a moment he too was out on the
ledge.

"Speak to me, old man! Why did you hate my wife?"

Mr. Ages crept slowly across the ledge, paws grasping the metal wall for
support. His expression grew as thunderous as the sky. Over the wind and the
rain, he had to shout to be heard. And even then, he wasn’t sure Jonathan would
catch his words before the night savagely ripped them away. "Do you think
it was easy for me, Jon!? The only other mouse in a world of rats? Knowing I
could never have a mate, or children? Too old, too different… even if I had the
courage you did? And each day as I watched you struggle, suffer under your
secret, I knew more and more that I could never bear it myself! I hate her for
taking the only other person of my kind and whisking him away, leaving me with
nothing!" He inched further, hindpaws becoming numb with the cold. His
voice dropped beneath the rage of the storm. "Nothing but my weakness and
my herbs."

Jonathan followed silently. He felt drenched, and my more than the rain.
"Good spirits, Ages, why didn’t you ever say anything?"

"Because, Jon, that wasn’t what made me hate her. She made you happy.
Even while you made you miserable. How could I hate her while she did
that?"

Jonathan felt his forward hind paw slip. He staggered, grasping to a
rust-worn divot, as his gaze sank to the depths of the space below. His body
froze, unable to move. To speak. Ages was moving ahead, unable to turn his head
back, to see his predicament. Very, very carefully, Jonathan moved his foot
back to the ledge, breathing harshly. Wouldn’t that be just perfect, to get
himself killed. Again.

He finally begin to inch forward, trying to catch up to the old mouse.
Shouting over the wind, "If that’s true, then what changed things?"

Ages’ voice carried back to him with a hollow sound, distorted by the wind.
"You died!"

To be continued…